


and so today, my world it smiles

by kittimau



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baking, Canon Universe, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Dorks, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Dean Winchester Deserves Nice Things, Dean Winchester Loves Pie, Dean Winchester's Birthday, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, Happy Ending, I'm a writer I can do anything, Interrupting Sam Winchester, Led Zeppelin References, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Newly Human Castiel (Supernatural), POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Post-Season/Series 15, Romance, Supportive Sam Winchester, Surprises, The finale never happened because I said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28971954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittimau/pseuds/kittimau
Summary: Castiel surprises Dean with a gift on his special day.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 139





	and so today, my world it smiles

**Author's Note:**

> Here's to giving Dean the life he deserves.  
> Happy Birthday, Dean. 💚

Two and a half cups of all-purpose, unbleached flour, spooned and leveled. One teaspoon salt. Six tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled and cubed. Three-fourths of a cup of vegetable shortening. Half a cup, 120 milliliters, of ice water.

Castiel lays everything out with painstaking precision, his brow furrowed in concentration. The filling sits, prepared, in a bowl at the end of the stainless steel island, a cloth draped over the top. That was the easy part. But this next step… this is the one he’s been agonizing over, practicing and perfecting, for over a month.

Only Sam knows because, as much as Castiel loves Jack, the boy cannot keep a secret. Not for lack of trying, it’s simply in his nature to be bluntly honest. Castiel’s lips twitch as he dusts flour across the sanitized countertop and rolling pin, readying them for the dough. He was once that way, too. Still is, sometimes. But he’s changed so much, grown.

Who would have thought an angel—a wavelength of celestial energy who’s existed longer than many stars scattered throughout the universe surrounding this pale blue dot humankind dubbed _Earth_ —could change so greatly in so little time. Just a speck, truly, a singular grain of dust drifting on the wind, compared to the immense span of his lifetime. Yet he has, and all due to one man.

_Dean._

Now, with the weight of mortality sinking into Castiel’s joints, the faint silvering of the hair at his temples, the crinkling around his eyes, he understands. Maybe not as well as he could, or should, but he’s getting there. At the least, he recognizes the importance of these gestures. How a soft caress, or whispered adulation, or a small gift can show someone, _I cherish you. I love you. You are my world… my home._

So he mixes the flour and salt in a bowl. Cuts the butter and shortening in with a fork, all the while singing under his breath an all-too-familiar song that always, _always_ , makes him think of Dean. A song gifted to him by the love of his life, because what better is there to occupy his mind with than the man he’s intent to impress today?

_If the sun refused to shine_

_I would still be loving you_

_When mountains crumble to the sea_

_There will still be you and me…_

Castiel drizzles the ice-cold water into the dough, one gentle tablespoon at a time, stirring with a wooden spoon until it begins to form large clumps. As it comes together easily, no longer sticky, he knows that finally, it’s ready for transfer to the counter. He flours his hands. Strong, practiced fingers fold the dough into itself, form it into a ball before dividing the mass in half, flattening each into thick disks with broad palms.

Alone in the bunker, he allows his voice to rise, echoing through empty kitchen as he covers the dough in plastic wrap, places it in the refrigerator, and washes his hands.

Now, to wait.

* * *

Baby’s engine purrs as she rolls to a stop in the bunker’s garage. Dean turns the keys in the ignition and sighs, sitting back against the seat and patting his full belly.

“Told you not to eat that third burger. I swear you’re gonna have a heart attack one of these days.”

Aiming his satisfied smirk toward his brother in the shotgun seat, Dean says, “Worth it,” lips spreading even wider at the scowl that earns him. Sammy shakes his head, hair flopping down around his eyes.

“Don’t worry Sam,” Jack assures where he’s scooted up to rest his forearms on the back of the seat between them. Bitchface in 3-2-1... “I’ll heal him.”

And _there it is._

“That’s not the point, Jack. He needs to learn—”

Dean chortles, interrupting what he can already tell is about to turn into a lengthy diatribe on the benefits of kale or some such bullshit. He twists to pat Jack’s hand where it lays near his own shoulder. “That’s why you’re the best, kiddo.”

Jack beams proudly, blue eyes crinkling, and suddenly Dean is reminded why he was so eager to return home from the diner despite how much he enjoyed gorging himself. He was a bit disappointed and confused as to why Cas declined the invitation.

Like, they’re together now. Even if it’s still technically new—though they’d been dancing around each other for years—he’d have thought the guy would at least get lunch with them, today of all days.

Instead, nervous and antsy from the minute they woke up that morning, Cas practically shoved them all out the door when they left and told them to “take their time,” whatever the hell that meant. It was beyond weird. Cas knows everything about Dean, more even than Sam does, but hasn’t said a single word about today. Maybe he forgot…

Dean shakes it off, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders, and climbs out of the car.

Fuck it; it’s not a big deal. He’s forty-two, not four. He can deal with cakeless birthdays and no gifts; it’s been like that his whole life. The best he usually gets is a greasy meal, and from time to time, a sloppy drunken lay.

Although the latter had been outta the cards for shit, _years_ , ‘cause… well, because of Cas. Thankfully he’s making up for all that celibacy in spades now, and that thought alone makes his downstairs brain stir to life and his pace quicken.

Sam and Jack trail behind him as he throws open the garage door, his mouth immediately watering because the most _delicious_ scent just hit him like a ton of bricks.

He looks back at the guys, eyebrows climbing into his hairline. Jack frowns, head cocked as he sniffs the air, totally perplexed. But Sam— _nah_ , Sam fucking _knows something._ He can see it in his eyes and the smug little purse of his lips. His brother says nothing, however. Simply shrugs and brushes past him, heading for the library.

“What’s wrong?” Jack finally asks, eyes darting between them.

“Uh… nothing, kid. C’mon. Let’s go find Cas.”

There’s this desperate urge trembling through his limbs, he wants to bolt. Wants to run and find out exactly where that smell is coming from because although he knows what it is, he needs to _see_. He tamps it down, though, schooling his features into pleasant neutrality. _Be smooth, Dean._

Jack follows like an eager little puppy, and Dean can’t help throwing an arm around his shoulders and tousling his soft, golden hair. As they both round the corner into the library, he hears frantic, hushed whispers from the kitchen and his ears perk up. Not like he needs to spy or anything, but he slows his steps anyway out of curiosity, holding Jack close to his side so the boy doesn’t give them away.

“You were supposed to send me a text message!”

“Sorry, Cas, my phone died. But hey, you got it done in time, right?”

_Got what done?_

“Yes, but I haven’t had a chance to—”

Dean peeks around the edge of the door, and of course, his cover is blown right away because Cas is hard as fuck to sneak up on. Like the dude has some kinda sixth sense about Dean in particular and can sense his presence from a mile away even without his grace. It’s creepy, but a little comforting too.

“Dean,” he gasps, a flush rising to his cheeks. His hands fidget at his sides. There’s white stuff smeared across his sharp, stubbled jaw and splattered all over the front of a— _holy shit_ , is Cas wearing his apron? _What the hell?_

“Are you wearing my apron?” he says, because apparently he’s Captain-fucking-Obvious.

Sam, standing in front of Cas, snorts and glances at Dean. He pats Cas on the back encouragingly and walks up the steps, tugging Jack away from Dean’s side.

“Come on buddy.”

“But I want to know what the smell is too,” the kid argues, confused.

“How about you pick out the movie for tonight and I’ll tell you. I think they’re gonna need some uh—alone time.”

“Oh... _OH_. Do you mean they are going to have se—”

Sam claps a hand over Jack’s mouth and ushers him out of the room, not letting him finish the sentence. Cheeks flaming, Dean glares at his brother and adopted son’s backs.

Stepping forward to cross the distance between them, Cas calls his name, drawing Dean’s attention back to the kitchen and his waiting angel. Now mere inches apart, he feels the heat from his face expand to the rest of his body the way it always does when Cas is close. His heart sings in his ribcage, beating a steady rhythm to match the rise and fall of Cas’ chest as their eyes pull each other close, closer, just a hair’s breadth away. Their noses touch. Dean tilts his head. Then, a soft press of lips, chaste and sweet.

“I missed you,” Cas murmurs between gentle kisses.

“Why didn’t you come with us?”

Cas draws back. “I… I wanted…” he starts.

It’s unusual for Cas to stumble over his words. The nerves he noticed that morning seem to be back in full force, so he calms his lover with a gentle hand upon his cheek. Wiping away the substance there with one calloused thumb, he recognizes it as flour and grins. Then presses forward—another kiss, deep and reassuring and maybe, maybe just on this side of needy. He doesn’t stop until Cas’ lower back hits the counter’s edge.

They stay, bodies aligned, clinging, and the minutes drag on. The slick slide of tongues tasting, relishing. He could remain in this moment forever, but oxygen is, unfortunately, a necessity for life so eventually they’re forced to break away, chests heaving and faces pink. Cas’ eyes shine up at him beneath dark lashes, not quite sated yet but happy, so clearly happy, and it takes all Dean’s willpower to step back and give them both at least an inch of space, if only for a moment.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Cas mumbles shyly. He glances over his shoulder, gesturing with his chin, and Dean’s eyes follow only to widen because there, on top of the stove, sits a pie. Straight out of a magazine with perfectly crimped edges, flaky, golden, egg-washed crust, and one lone candle placed neatly in its center.

“You… you _baked_ for me?”

“I’ve been practicing. I know tradition dictates cake for such an occasion, but you prefer pie, so I thought—”

He’s cut off by another hard kiss, far more desperate this time. Dean’s palms cup Cas’ face, and Cas’ hands fall to his hips, pulling their bodies flush and he feels so fucking full in this moment, so much so he could burst with the intensity of it. He breaks away panting, eyes flitting between Cas’ glistening eyes and spit-slick, swollen lips, and fuck if they were alone in the bunker he’d drop to his knees right here in the middle of the kitchen just to show Cas exactly how much he appreciates this surprise. He remembered, and not only did Cas remember, but he—God, he’s just perfect. He’s perfect, and Dean never wants another birthday spent without him. He wants to retire, take Cas to the beach, get a little house to fix up somewhere, maybe a dog. He wants to give Cas the world, wants to wake up next to his newly-human, caffeine-addicted, grumpy and permanently bead-headed ass every single day for the rest of his life and never let him go.

“Wait—Dean, wait,” Cas breathes, though his body doesn’t seem to share the sentiment as his hips roll against Dean’s. “I have something else for you, too.”

“I… hope…” Dean speaks between peppered kisses along Cas’ sweaty throat, “it’s you… naked.”

Cas chuckles, the vibration rolling through Dean’s lips, heady and sweet. He twists away, fishing through the big pocket at the front of the apron between them, and pulls out a… card? He shoves it into Dean’s hand, expression hopeful, and murmurs, “Go on. Read it.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but decides to indulge him and opens the card.

_“Inspiration is what you are to me_

_Inspiration, look ‘n’ see_

_And so today, my world it smiles_

_Your hand in mine, we walk the miles_

_Thanks to you, it will be done_

_For you to me are the only one”_

_Happy Birthday, Dean_

_\- Castiel_

Dean’s not crying. He’s just not, damn it. He looks up, vision blurred, and says the first words to pop into his mind.

“Marry me.”

Cas’ jaw makes a valiant attempt to meet the floor, and if not for the niggling of doubt in the back of Dean’s mind now screaming _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, no you did not just say that right now_ , he’d probably laugh at the stunned expression. Then Cas’ eyes start to actually water and no, no, he screwed up didn’t he? Royally.

“I mean—”

“Okay.”

Dean sucks in a breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cas says, nodding fervently, then crashes their lips together once again.

Who’s to say how long they make out like that, pressed up against the island. There’s no urgency in it, no desire to take anything further, just the two of them enjoying the comfort that comes with each touch—each shared breath—and it’s _nice_. His lips trail down Cas’ jaw, finding the small spot beneath his ear that makes him hum with pleasure (and sometimes, when he bites it, whine with need). Then he slips a thigh between Cas’ legs, less out of wanting more than reflex, and rocks forward, careful and slow—

 _“Ahem.”_ They break apart to find Sam standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes drifting everywhere in refusal to land on them. “Really, guys?”

It’s really hard for Dean not to snap right now, the biggest reason being that… well, okay, he’s actually hard, and there’s no way in hell he can move without that being obvious as fuck. Instead, he says, a little sheepish, “Thought you and Jack were watching a movie.”

“We are, but Jack wants popcorn…” Sam trails off, shrugging. He breezes past them, unwrapping a bag and tossing it in the microwave. His eyes fall to the stove as he does, and he offers Cas a genuine, fond smile. “Looks great, Cas.”

“Thank you,” Cas breathes, still flushed and now awkward. “And thank you for testing the others for me. I wanted this one to be perfect.”

Sam leans against the counter, ankles crossed. “I’m sure it is, man. I’m surprised Dean hasn’t dug into it yet.”

Cas breaks away then, and Dean regrets the loss of his warmth but follows now that his body is somewhat back under control. His angel fumbles around in a drawer and pulls out a lighter, grinning brightly. He scoops up the pie and deposits it on the table, waving the two of them over. But he pauses before lighting the candle, eyes closed, hovering at the table’s end while Dean and Sam take their places opposite one another on the bench seats. Seconds later, Jack appears behind Cas, a questioning look on his face until his gaze drops to the table. Then the excited puppy look is back in full force.

“Here,” Cas says, guiding him to sit beside Sam. Then he lights the candle and looks expectantly at Dean. “I believe it is customary to make a wish?”

Dean’s gaze drifts over— _holy shit, technically Cas is my fiance now, right? Jesus_ —Cas’ face. Then Sam’s, and Jack’s. Content, surrounded by the people he loves most in all the world, he blows the candle out.

“What did you wish for?” Jack asks, eyes wide.

Dean takes Cas’ hand. Their eyes meet, and he smiles through tears.

“I already have it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [otherstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherstuff/pseuds/otherstuff).
> 
> The song is "Thank You" by Led Zeppelin, which was definitely on the mixtape Dean gave to Cas. Because reasons.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please feeeeed meeee... your comments. ;)
> 
>   
> If you'd like to receive updates for this or my other works, hit that [subscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittimau/profile) button.
> 
> Want to talk with me about Destiel, SPN, or writing? Find me on [Tumblr](https://kmauspn.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kittimau1). 💙💚


End file.
